


A Reason to Believe

by pantswarrior



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy was married once - he knows what love is, and that Jim's all wrong about it. Still, a part of him wants to believe that Jim's right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reason to Believe

"I really loved her, Bones."

Another mission, another lover for James T. Kirk. That's the usual way of things, just like the drink they're sharing now that it's over. Reports have been submitted, wounds have been patched up, and while Sulu's steering them off towards the next mission (and likely, McCoy thinks, the next woman), they can unwind for a moment. Spock's in charge, and they both have absolute trust in the Vulcan. But they're human.

In moments like this, even Jim.

"That's the problem," McCoy's telling him. "You say that about every one of 'em - you _really loved_ them."

"And it's true," Jim insists.

"It's infatuation," McCoy tells him. "Physical attraction. You're a reasonably healthy man, of an appropriate age. You see pretty creatures, and although you don't even know them, you're attracted to them." Usually women, but sometimes men.

"And I suppose that never happens to you," Jim counters.

"All the time. I just know better than to act on every biological impulse that makes my heart beat a little faster."

Incredulous, Jim actually chuckles. "What makes you think I act on _every_ biological impulse?"

It's only partly true. Jim flirts even when he doesn't mean to flirt. He flirts constantly. Flirting is the default state of communication for Jim Kirk. McCoy couldn't avoid noticing it, not when the man even flirts with _Spock_. It's infuriating, really.

But he keeps offering Jim a drink when he shows up after a tough mission, so he supposes it works.

"All the same," he tells Jim again, "those impulses aren't _love_, whether you act on them or not. Until you actually get to _know_ someone, you're just attracted to them."

"That's why I get to know them," Jim tells him seriously. "And when I do, well... There's something to love in everyone, Bones. I wouldn't say those words unless I meant them."

The sad thing is, McCoy's pretty sure he believes him. Jim has enough love for two people, maybe three. Maybe Jim Kirk is the universe's way of compensating for him and Spock, McCoy thinks, and smirks a little in spite of himself.

\---

Jim comes to him in his quarters one night, as he's getting ready for bed, and he has that look on his face like he has bad news. They already have their next mission, they're just traveling through light-years of space now, so McCoy is puzzled as to what bad news he could be bringing. If it pertained to him as a doctor, he'd already have been called to sickbay - and he doesn't have too many interactions these days that _don't_ pertain to being a doctor. Except for Jim.

"Did something happen?" Jim inquires. "With you and Yeoman Barrows, that is. Are you still involved?"

Case in point. "Why do you ask?" McCoy ask, though he's not sure he wants to know.

"I just saw her with an ensign down in the recreaction room," Jim replies. "It didn't seem as though they were trying to be especially secretive, but I thought..."

"We're not involved anymore," McCoy says, bluntly. "We haven't been for awhile."

"What happened?"

"Nothing _happened_, Jim. It just wasn't what we were hoping for."

Tonia was nothing like his ex-wife. And then at times, she was just like her. The good aspects, not the bad aspects, but McCoy had had mixed feelings at those times nonetheless. Especially when he started to recognize why, and that his feelings about those similarities _were_ mixed. And Tonia didn't deserve that, the kneejerk reactions his confusion caused...

Jim nodded slowly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not a big deal," McCoy assured him. "But thanks."

But now he's thinking it all through again, and Jim - somehow - can tell. "...Are you okay, Bones?"

"I'm fine." But he _is_ thinking, and Jim _is_ his best friend. "I just... get the feeling I'm not cut out for relationships. Probably should stick to medicine," he adds, and makes himself smile ruefully. "At least I'm pretty good at that."

"My advice," Jim tells him. "Don't give up on either. Someday you'll find someone who finds you just as irresistible as I do - and if you gave up medicine, the fleet would be out their best doctor." Jim clasps his shoulder, squeezing with one warm hand, before leaving.

Praise of his medical expertise is the best kind of compliment he can receive, and has been since he was still in school. For some reason, the other one rings in his head this time, and he finds himself smiling a little bit more as he climbs into bed.

\---

He's been Jim's doctor now for long enough to know how Jim's body works. He could have been able to tell when Jim's been engaging in sexual activity just by doing a medical scan on the guy. Not that he has to, because Jim makes it pretty obvious just in the way he holds his shoulders, the way he sits, the way he smiles.

It's better when a mission ends like this than like the last time, he knows. When the captain gets the girl, if just for a little while, and no one dies. But Jim's actually smiling through the routine exam afterwards, while McCoy's scanning for any abnormalities, anything that might have tagged along from the planet's surface. All he finds are a few bacteria, easily zapped. "You're clean," he tells Jim as he hops down off the biobed. "Fortunately for the rest of the galaxy."

"Bones," Jim says with a look that would have been stern, if he weren't still smiling, with a sparkle in his eye. "I do believe you're jealous."

Again with the unintentional flirting. "Jealous of what? A meaningless one-night stand?"

"It wasn't meaningless," Jim remarks, "but if that's how you want to think of it, then yes."

"You knew her for all of two days," McCoy retorts.

"And for those two days," Jim tells him, "she was loved, and so was I."

He's serious. He always is, when he talks about love.

It makes McCoy wish he could believe, but he just rolls his eyes and starts putting away his equipment.

\---

McCoy used to believe in love, a long time ago. In a sense, he still does; he loves his daughter, even if they haven't seen each other face to face in years. Anything besides that familial love, though...

He doesn't know what happened with the ex-wife, why everything went downhill. He was sure he loved her at the time, and he sure thought she loved him. Love doesn't have a whole lot to do with attraction. It's more about knowing someone inside and out, having seen the worst, ugliest parts of someone and still wanting to stick around. He'd seen her scared and hurt and raging, but he wasn't going to flinch away - he was a doctor, he'd seen worse. She saw him stressed and grief-stricken and furious and everything else, and was still there when those moments passed; he thought they had it all figured out. Love conquers all.

And then she told him she loved someone else.

Most of the time McCoy thinks that Jim doesn't know a damn thing about love. But every now and then, he thinks Jim might actually have a better idea of how it works than he does - and at those times, he doesn't think he wants any part of it.

\---

Another mission ends badly, and is followed by a bottle of Saurian brandy in the sickbay. Jim's had more of it than McCoy, and is more than willing to talk. "At least," he's saying, "she didn't die alone."

But she's still dead, and McCoy couldn't save her even though he had been right there. He _deserves_ to hear Jim go on and on about this woman he'd known for a couple of weeks - as if they'd been childhood sweethearts, as if they'd been together for years. He would have preferred it if Jim were shouting at him again, blaming him for letting her die, over this. But he deserves it.

Abruptly, Jim's rambling monologue changes direction. "You know, Bones... I've had this feeling, for a long time, that _I'm_ going to die alone."

It's so pessimistic, so out of the ordinary for Jim, that it gives McCoy a chill. He shakes his head, not quite shaking it off. "You, Jim? You're the last person in the universe who's likely to die alone. You've got friends and lovers everywhere you go, and you're always making more."

"Maybe that's why," Jim says, "because of this feeling."

"Well, that feeling is _stupid_," McCoy scoffs. "Don't worry, you're not going to die alone - it's impossible."

Jim looks anxious, almost slightly ill. "You can't know that."

"Sure I can." McCoy takes another sip of his drink and grimaces. "The only way you could _possibly_ die alone is if whatever takes you out already took me and Spock out first."

"I wouldn't let that happen."

"See, there you go." McCoy shrugs. "Like I said, impossible."

After a beat, Jim laughs faintly. And then he's on his feet, coming around the end of the desk, and McCoy practically has to _catch_ him when Jim leans down to hug him. He's practically being crushed, between the force of Jim's hug and his weight on top of him, but he holds on tight too. He can't let go, or Jim will probably slip right off him onto the floor.

And he hates the idea of Jim dying alone. He squeezes Jim tighter, and doesn't let go for a good, long time.

\---

Jim's never going to die alone. That's just ridiculous. And it's ridiculous that McCoy should think about Jim dying at all, because if anyone could cheat death, it would be Jim. Jim would say _he_ was the one who cheated death on his behalf, and maybe that was true, but maybe that was because it was Jim.

Besides, he's got a few years on Jim. Jim's younger and stronger, and more likely to outlive him, if Jim doesn't pull some kind of crazy stunt and get himself killed in a suitably flashy James T. Kirk sort of way beforehand. And as far as McCoy's concerned, he himself is intending to live to a healthy old age and probably die peacefully in a hospital, preferably on Earth, surrounded by excellent medical personnel. Maybe Joanna would be among them.

He's never expected Jim to be there for that. No, Jim would just say his goodbyes and then be off to the next adventure, no matter how old he'd gotten to be by that time. And well, he'd still have Spock to accompany him - that Vulcan lifespan would come in handy.

But after that conversation, which Jim might not even remember having, McCoy isn't so sure that's the kind of death he wants anymore. It seems to him that if Jim's not there holding his hand at the end, it would be as good as dying alone.

It's stupid and sentimental and just as ridiculous as Jim dying alone. He reminds himself of that.

\---

Jim's over it, of course. He always is. He always gets better. Just like McCoy always assumed, Jim doesn't really know what love feels like, how it can rip a man apart as it's leaving. In fact, Jim's declared they need a break - and with a grin, he notes they're not far from the Rigel system. He wouldn't mind being introduced to those showgirls McCoy knew...

It wasn't like McCoy really knew them. He watched their show, chatted with them for a little while afterwards, and then went on his way. And despite Jim's teasing, he most certainly did _not_ 'know' them in the biblical sense. They were dancers, not prostitutes.

"You don't have to _hire_ someone attractive in order to sleep with them," Jim points out with a wink. "I'm assuming that dancers might appreciate a little physical admiration from time to time. Starship captains certainly do... and maybe chief medical officers."

McCoy sighs and agrees to take Jim to that cabaret just to get him off his back, and maybe to make a point, but certainly not because he wants some action.

At least, he's never been interested in one-night stands with near-strangers.

His assumption is that he'll take Jim to the show, they'll have a laugh together, they'll see if those girls are still there - or strike up a conversation with a couple who are - and then McCoy will excuse himself and find somewhere to stay the night, while Jim figures out whether one of the girls or both are interested in his particular idea of love. Not much different from a usual night out, except that Jim will be along for part of it.

It goes according to plan, right up until McCoy excuses himself, and Jim excuses himself as well.

"Not your type?" McCoy asks, once they're out on the street, heading for the shuttle station whose signs they can see flashing a couple blocks over. "But then again, they're attractive and _breathing_ \- seems like your type."

Jim doesn't answer the question. "Why do you go to shows like that, if you're not interested in the women?"

"Who says I'm not interested in the women?" McCoy chuckles. He wouldn't be in as good a mood as he was, if he wasn't interested in the women.

"I just don't understand how you can watch that sort of show," Jim clarifies, "and not be interested in, well, _more_."

"I _am_ interested in more," McCoy shoots back, amused.

"But you don't pursue it."

"Not with them. They've already offered me a nice view, and aside from that, I don't know them."

"You _could_ know them."

"But I don't." McCoy just smiles wistfully. "I may appreciate attractive women, and appreciate them showing off their attractiveness in front of me, but I prefer to actually get to know them the old-fashioned way."

"What's more old-fashioned than making love?"

That is _such_ a Jim Kirk thing to say that McCoy busts up laughing.

"All right, all right," Jim grumbles good-naturedly. "So, Bones - my point is, doesn't it just make you frustrated?"

"Not really. There are attractive people all around us on the Enterprise - I'm sure you hadn't noticed," he adds with a smirk, "and I manage."

"But that kind of show is _designed_ to arouse. That's entirely different."

"I think I told you before," McCoy reminds him. "Not all of us act on every biological impulse that comes along."

"Yes, you did tell me," Jim replies, and for some reason meets his eyes. "And I told _you_ that _I_ don't act on every single one of them."

Suddenly, McCoy's amusement is gone.

Jim's merriment, likewise, seems to have disappeared. "...Do you need me to say it more clearly, Bones?"

They've stopped short in the middle of the street, surrounded by people dressed in bright colors, making noise, drinking. The whole district is like one giant party, and this isn't the kind of place to have a conversation like this. Maybe it is to Jim, with his flippant attractions to the entire universe, and McCoy can't say he doesn't feel a little thrill, but it also fills him with a feeling of dread. "I'd rather you didn't say it at all," he mutters, and knows Jim can't hear him over all the good cheer.

"What was that?"

"Nothing much," McCoy says, speaking up a little rather than leaning closer. "...Let's just get a room, all right?"

He doesn't look at Jim, and _wills_ him not to comment on the suggestion of them sharing a room. Fortunately, Jim doesn't say a word, until they get to the station and he asks if they're just heading for housing, which as far as McCoy is concerned, they are. And when they arrive, McCoy asks for one room with two beds, which is exactly what he'd been intending to ask for if Jim didn't spend the night with those girls.

Jim hasn't said anything more, but McCoy's still brooding, standing by the window once he's turned off the blinds to reveal an amazing view of the city below. It's all lit up and flashing like holiday decorations back home, but brighter and larger. Not for the first time McCoy wonders how he wound up living a life like this, with so much light and noise and speed. With someone like Jim Kirk. It's probably his fault.

"If I'd have stayed with those showgirls," Jim asks, coming from the kitchenette with a cup in hand, "you'd really have just come back here alone?"

"Either that, or gone back to the ship," McCoy says with a shrug. "What else would I do?"

"I don't know... I just know I wouldn't want to be alone."

"You never want to be alone," McCoy points out, and wonders if Jim remembers that conversation.

"You're right, I don't."

Jim hands him the cup, and he sniffs at it. Something stronger than the drink he'd had at the show, not that that would be hard to manage, and he takes a sip. Unlike Jim, he's used to being alone. ...But at the same time, he's never quite alone, is he?

"Bones... sorry if I made things awkward down there," Jim continues, with an apologetic little smile. "It just didn't seem-"

"Jim," McCoy interrupts, because while he's been brooding, he's been thinking. He's not sure _what_ he's been thinking, but whatever it is, it must have made some kind of sense, because he's made a decision. "Let's not complicate things by talking too much, all right? It's okay."

"Is it?" Jim asks, more seriously.

They're both consenting adults. Friends, even. If they want to relieve a few of their frustrations - and McCoy has to admit that he _is_ frustrated, because it's been ages - then there's no reason they shouldn't. Except the big one... He knows it doesn't hold the same significance for both of them. Jim would say it does, but McCoy knows better.

But he's tired of dancing around it, this attraction to each other. The way Jim said it before, maybe Jim's been thinking about it as long as he has. McCoy looks him in the eye over the edge of the cup before lowering it, and tries to make himself smile to prove it. "Yeah. Everything's fine."

Jim takes the cup back, right out of his hand, and takes a drink himself before setting it aside on the table. "May I?" he asks on his way back.

He sounds like a schoolboy, asking permission. Despite his best efforts, trying to convince himself it wasn't any big deal, McCoy kind of feels like one himself. "Sure," he murmurs, and Jim is already behind him, sliding his arms around him, nuzzling at the nape of his neck, where McCoy is sure all the little hairs are standing on end already. He hasn't been touched like this for a long time.

McCoy's hands rest on the back of Jim's as Jim's fingers explore his torso, caressing his stomach and chest and hips. Jim's lips work around the side of his neck, and his head lolls the other direction, moving instinctively so Jim has room to work. Jim keeps making these little humming sounds of contentment and satisfaction, right in McCoy's ear, and if it wasn't so pleasant, it would be driving him crazy. It's _still_ driving him crazy, actually, but in a good way. By the time Jim's hands come to rest on his belt buckle, he's nearly forgotten why they hadn't done this before; it takes him a minute to nod his approval, just because he doesn't realize that that's what Jim was asking when he paused. He didn't realize Jim thought he needed to ask.

They're not in uniform tonight, and the first thing Jim does after loosening McCoy's belt is to tug out the shirt that was tucked in, working his hands up and under rather than down. They're warm, but McCoy shivers at their touch even so, and Jim's hand moves up, his thumb finding and stroking one hardening nub of flesh. His face is still buried in McCoy's shoulder, and McCoy can barely make out the murmur of his name - or rather, the familiar nickname. It's a good thing, maybe, because if Jim called him anything _but_ 'Bones', it wouldn't seem like Jim anymore.

And Jim's the only one he wants, the only one who he'd let touch him this way at this point in his life. He's still not sure Jim understands _love_, not in the way he does, but it seems to McCoy that if it's about knowing the worst parts of each other and still being there, they've got that part right. He can't even feel self-conscious or nervous when one of Jim's hands slides down beneath his loosened belt, cupping and holding, because it's Jim.

Jim's fingers are feeling him out, tracing down his length, and Jim breathes in his ear again. "Bones..."

McCoy's breathing is pretty heavy too by this time. "Hmm?"

"Turn around."

He does, and finds himself backed up against the window by the force of Jim's kiss. He doesn't think he's been kissed this enthusiastically, or this thoroughly, since he was sixteen. Jim's not stopping there, either, but working his lips over McCoy's jaw just as he did his neck, and down to the clavicle, his tongue slipping into the notch at the base of the throat before he has to stop to pull McCoy's shirt over his head. McCoy's not sure what to do with his hands now; they find Jim's shoulders, then his hair, as Jim kisses his way down, tugging down pants and underwear as he kneels.

His intentions are all too obvious, and McCoy can only think straight enough for one pragmatic thought - he hopes the blinds are on a one-way setting - because Jim's blowing him right up against a hotel window overlooking the city. He can't bring himself to care, what with the slow, deliberate movements of Jim's lips, the way Jim's fingers play beyond their reach. He tries not to clench his fingers in Jim's hair, and clenches them against the glass instead; this takes nearly all that's left of his conscious attention. Jim's still making those contented humming sounds, but deeper, hungrier. McCoy finds that he's occasionally echoing them in groans of his own as Jim's rhythm gradually grows quicker.

Jim's got this thing he does with his tongue, this teasing movement, and it's all McCoy can do not to thrust into his mouth. He moans faintly, knowing he's close, and Jim seems to understand, resting one palm flat upon McCoy's hip to steady them both as he slows down, moving more cautiously. But he doesn't stop - not until the choked-off cry and the stifled jerk of McCoy's hips. As McCoy slumps back against the window, panting for breath, Jim brushes the back of his hand over his lips and gives McCoy a smile that's part fond, part dangerous. It's really just the look in his eyes that makes it dangerous - the look that says this isn't over.

And of course it's not over. Jim's still dressed, still flushed and breathing heavy. McCoy's not so confident in his technique as Jim, and he's not sure he could reciprocate in precisely the same way, but he toes off his shoes and the pants around his ankles and suggests they move to the bed. He'll do what he can.

He's not as young as he used to be, and it takes some time, but Jim is patient, and sufficiently determined for them to learn each other's bodies. McCoy knows Jim's pretty well by this time, having put it back together several times, but he's seeing it in a whole new light now. In the meantime, Jim's _worshipping_ his, with every touch of his fingers or his mouth. There's teasing and sometimes laughter, and plenty of smiles. Sex with Jim is everything he ever assumed or expected it would be.

Except, he thinks later, when they're lying all tangled up in sated exhaustion, a mistake.

He'd gotten it all wrong. Maybe he'll change his mind in the morning, but he doesn't think so. Even if Jim's usual patterns of professed love persist - at least for tonight, he _was_ loved. He has no doubt about that.

\---

McCoy isn't sure why he's moderately surprised to find Jim still there in the morning. It wasn't like he had somewhere else to go.

He wasn't sure what he expected in general, but Jim doesn't seem to be anxious or confused about the situation they've gotten themselves into. He just rolls over and gets up, asking with a smile what McCoy wants for breakfast, and orders in. While they eat, he's throwing out ideas of things they could do today, attractions that might be interesting. It's as if nothing ever happened. Nothing's changed at all.

Then again, McCoy realizes, maybe it didn't.

Jim convinces him to go to another show that night, another place with dancing girls wearing very little, and naturally flirts with one of them afterward when she seems interested. Upon more direct questioning, though, Jim tells her he's flattered, but he has plans.

They're barely in the door before Jim's tongue is in his mouth again. Even when it's not, McCoy can't question his motives; between kisses, Jim's murmuring his name.

\---

There's the question of what's going to happen when their shore leave is finished, but they're on vacation. Jim's not worrying about it, and McCoy finds he's pretty damn tired of worrying. He'll just enjoy the ride, for however long it lasts.

Maybe it can't last forever, but McCoy's okay with that. He didn't expect to be, but he is. So when they get back to the ship and the next alien beauty shows up, shooting coy looks at the captain during a mission, he just sighs and reminds himself that for that little while, he _was_ loved.

Of course, he realizes while treating a handful of ensigns for low-level radiation burns in the aftermath - not enough trouble to keep his mind from wandering - it's Jim. He's seen enough fond old flames to know it's not that Jim loves frequently - he just loves _more_. His love is parallel, rather than subsequent.

And if love depends on how well you know the other person... who has Jim known better or longer than him?

So when Jim shows up at his room that night, asking if he can come in, McCoy asks just to make sure. "Business, Jim?"

"Business?" Jim smiles. "I believe we've taken care of enough business today, Bones - this is strictly pleasure."

This isn't, McCoy realizes, really new territory at all. "Then I guess I'll start by offering you a drink."

Sure enough, it's not all that different at all, except that it lasts longer, and Jim stays.


End file.
